


Scorpion Tail & Rabbit Teeth

by Theoroark



Series: Wildlands [2]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Demon Hunter Sombra, F/F, First Kiss, mild violence, scorpion widowmaker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-27
Updated: 2019-10-27
Packaged: 2021-01-04 19:10:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21202619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Theoroark/pseuds/Theoroark
Summary: Sombra is a demon hunter. Widowmaker is her bounty. Sombra's not one to let the job get in the way of a little fun.





	Scorpion Tail & Rabbit Teeth

Demons gather together, because demons are idiots. With anyone else, it might be attributable to safety in numbers. Sombra might not trust her guild and they might not trust her, but their interests align and they have a common enemy. The guild excluded, a demon’s greatest enemy is other demons. They rat and backstab for petty grudges, generations-long vows of enmity, purely for the fun of it. Not even the Church’s ire could compete with a demon’s schadenfreude. But demons gather together because they're prideful idiots, and delight in each others’ toxic, deadly company. So Sombra knows she can go straight to the Cabaret Luna to find her mark.

She had been subcontracted to the job by Priest-Commander Morrison. “The Golden Scorpion has been killing our exorcists,” he had told her. “Find her, and end her.” Sombra had nodded and tried to stifle her laughter. Morrison could wear all the heavy makeup and high-collared jackets he liked. He could never meet her eyes, never truly open his lips. Sombra still saw his red irises and sharpened canines. His powder was clumping in his laugh lines, exposing the ghostly, almost translucent, white skin beneath. She would have known even if he had been competent at hiding. It didn’t matter how or why, if you shaped your life around demons, sooner or later you took on their blood.

And that’s how Sombra gets through the doors of the cabaret. Even if the bouncer sees past her yellow and amber eyes, a hunter is likely not the most dangerous thing for them. A hunter might be here to eliminate the real threat. Sombra pushes past leathery wings and swaying tails to the bar. She gets her cocktail and scans the room. 

The dance floor is packed, though, and it seems like every demon is extravagantly gilded. Sombra glances around her. The bartender has become preoccupied pulling apart two demons trying in earnest to rip each others’ faces off. Sombra hops up on the bar, still clutching her drink, and looks around again. Now she can see the far wall of the Cabaret. It’s indented and lined with booths. And in one of them sits a woman with a golden exoskeleton, a tail and stinger falling from her head like a ponytail.

Sombra grins, downs her drink, and hops down. She pushes her way through the crowd of dancing, grinding bodies. The atmosphere is heady. Every demon in the place seems to be wearing some perfume, some rose oil or incense or musk, and none of it is fully covering up the scent of sulphur. Sombra knows it’s not the mezcal that’s making her head spin. 

The scorpion isn’t alone when she gets there. There’s man sitting across from her, finely dressed and burning from his core through his eyes and arteries. The two demons look up at Sombra as she stands above them. Neither look particularly amused. 

“This sounds like your kind of song,” Sombra says to the scorpion. She raises an eyebrow.

“You just met me.”

“I’ve got good intuition. Trust me.” Sombra holds out her hand. The burning demon scowls. 

“How did you get in here?” Sombra snorts and jerks her head back to the front door. The scorpion stands and his frown deepens. “Widowmaker, you don’t have to–” 

“I know I don’t, Doomfist. Don’t worry.” She takes Sombra’s hand. “I can handle myself.”

Sombra tries to smirk at the burning demon, but he’s already back to contemplating his brandy, and the scorpion demon is pulling her onto the dancefloor. She wraps one arm around Sombra’s waist and holds the other up and begins to lead. It’s a fast beat, not something wholly suited for the tango-esque dance they’re dancing now, but the scorpion is making it work. Sombra’s glad she hasn’t been made a liar.

“Widowmaker, huh?” Sombra says. The music is loud but Sombra knows demon senses. She’ll hear her. “I have to be honest, that’s one of the stranger nicknames I’ve heard.” 

“It fits,” the scorpion says. "So it's not strange at all." She isn’t speaking up either, and Sombra has to lean in to hear her. She’s wearing heavy perfume like all the others. Hers smells a bit like myrrh. 

“Well,” Sombra says. “Good thing I’m single.” Widowmaker laughs.

“I’m good at my job,” she says. She pulls Sombra in tight as she spins her. Sombra feels her tail breeze past her arm. “You didn’t tell me your name.”

“I didn’t.”

“Will you?”

“Should I?”

Widowmaker rolls her eyes. “You should be paying more attention to your footwork. You’ve nearly stepped on my feet three times now.”

“Nearly. This is a new dance for me. But I’m a quick learner.”

“Mmm.” Widowmaker eyes her up and down. “Don’t feel bad. You’re only human.”

Sombra snorts. She could deny it, she knows plenty of people who would earnestly take issue with Widowmaker’s assessment. But she doesn’t really care to. She knows the spirit Widowmaker is speaking in, and she’s embraced it long ago. The song has changed now, to something slower, and when Widowmaker falters a bit Sombra shifts them so she’s leading now. “You’re right,” she says. “Poor little me.”

“Don’t be snippy, now. I was only joking.”

“I know you were. That’s why it’s funny. You can’t help but think of us as ‘only,’ no matter what you see.” 

“You certainly were quite intimidating with my friend,” WIdowmaker says. She has a patronizing smile on, and Sombra matches her. “And you’re very pretty. You do quite well for yourself.”

“For a human.” Widowmaker just smiles. “Gods bless your soul. This is why you all are so easy to hunt.”

“I’ve hunted humans,” Widowmaker tells her, bemused. “You’re quite soft. You’re sure we’re the easy prey?”

“Humans might be easier if you’re not feeling clever,” Sombra concedes. The corner of Widowmaker’s mouth twitches. “But a rabbit hides better than any wolf. Gets real good at hearing and seeing and smelling. If something is born prey, it learns to evade and survive fast. But the wolf never expects to be hunted. So it never learns. So.” Sombra smiles broadly at Widowmaker. She’s not like Morrison. She’s not ashamed of fangs. “If the rabbit gets sharp, the wolf will never see it coming. It’s an easy hunt.”

Widowmaker smiles and nods. Sombra knows she doesn’t believe her. That’s why it’s so fun.

The slow song ends as well. The din and chatter of the cabaret replace it. Sombra glances over and sees the snake-haired musician hopping down from the stage, helped by an Oni demon and a slick looking vampire. Widowmaker does not let go of her. 

“I’d like some air,” Widowmaker says. “Come with me?”

Sombra smiles and loops her arm around her waist, leaning into her as they push through the crowd, towards a nondescript door at the back. Widowmaker’s hips sway as she walks, and her tail brushes up against Sombra’s arm. Sombra traces a finger along the curve of the stinger. The tip of Widowmaker’s tail twitches, and so does the corner of her mouth. 

Stepping out into the alley is like walking through worlds. Canned scents become the wide breath of the city. Humid, compressed body heat becomes crisp, moving air. Noise gives way to a bare silence. There’s no one else out here. Just Sombra, a scorpion demon, and the wall she’s shoving Sombra up against. 

“Tonight was fun,” Widowmaker says into her neck. Both her hands are on Sombra’s chest and cheek and for a second Sombra’s confused as to how she’s being held up against the wall, until she registers the constriction around her waist. Sombra smiles, placing a hand on the plated tail. 

“I’m glad you came,” Widowmaker says. 

“Not yet.” Widowmaker snorts and kisses her, probably to shut her up. Another band has started in the club, and the beat is spilling out through the door. Widowmaker’s hips are swaying a little. 

“You still want to dance?” Sombra asks, like she’s not out of breath. 

“You could say that.” Widowmaker cups her face and she dips her, holding her upright with just her tail. The night air is cold but Widowmaker is warm, too warm, and she’s all around Sombra. Sombra places her hand on the back of her head and holds her there in the kiss. She waits. 

She doesn’t have to wait long. Widowmaker’s stinger sinks directly below her sternum, into her liver. Widowmaker pulls back from the kiss. She’s actually meeting Sombra’s eyes, which Sombra didn’t quite expect. She looks a little regretful that this is how she chose to end things. Sombra enjoys that. 

Almost as much as she enjoys the ensuing look of horror on Widowmaker’s face when she realizes her poison isn’t taking effect. Widowmaker takes a step back but her tail is still in and around Sombra, and so that just has the effect of pulling Sombra upright. 

Sombra pats her cheek. “I told you, my dear,” she says. “I got sharp.”

Widowmaker is pliant in her arms as Sombra re-maneuvers them, so she’s holding Widowmaker aloft instead. Her tail is limp, still draped over her waist. Sombra’s strong and fast, she could get the knife out of its sheath even if Widowmaker tried to stop her. But Widowmaker doesn’t try. She just lies there, blinking a little when the glint of the silver blade comes into view.

Sombra could kill her right now. Widowmaker clearly would have killed her, if she could. All they are is a dance and a kiss. Sombra’s had that with plenty of girls before, girls who weren’t also bounties she owed. She has no reason to spare her. 

But she does. She sheathes the knife and steps back, letting go of Widowmaker as she does. Widowmaker stumbles for a moment without Sombra supporting before leaning against the wall. She stares at her. 

“Why?” she asks. And Sombra smiles again, as toothy as she can. 

“I found it’s more fun to go against your nature,” she says. “Figured I might give you the same opportunity.”

Widowmaker stares at her for a moment longer. Her tail is thrashing behind her. Then without a word, she pivots and rushes back into the club. Sombra waits until the door’s shut, then clambers up the wall. She waits on the rooftop above, to see if Widowmaker will send anyone after her. She’s safely hidden here. Demons rarely looked up. Too jealous of angels and their functional wings, one of her guild had told her once. Too proud to make do like the rest of them, Sombra had surmised on her own.

No one comes out for a while except for drunken, stumbling demons. At one point the bartender shuffles out the back door to deposit a defaced body in the alley. Then, after about a half hour, Widowmaker and the burning demon— Doomfist— exit the front door. They stand there, talking, but Sombra can’t make out what they’re saying. Doomfist’s brow is furrowed. Widowmaker shakes her head. He sighs, takes her hand, and snaps his fingers. They’re engulfed in fire and when the flames disappear, they’re gone. 

Sombra goes home. 

-

Morrison isn’t pleased with her, the guild tells Sombra. He’d wanted this taken care of. But the next regiment of exorcists crosses the city’s walls untroubled. That calms him down some. So the business relationship with the Holy Army is intact, the guild tells her. Isn’t that nice. 

Sombra nods. And she waits. 

This time, Widowmaker keeps her waiting. Maybe she has trouble finding Sombra. Or maybe she’s just proud. In any case, it’s a couple weeks before Sombra opens her door and finds Widowmaker standing there. The sunlight is brighter than the club light. And yet Sombra swears Widowmaker’s golden plating shines less today than it did that night. 

“I’m hungry,” Widowmaker tells her. Sombra frowns. 

“You want me to cook you breakfast?”

“No,” Widowmaker says. Her eyes are burning. Sombra is struck by the utter normality of her black irises and whites. Widowmaker’s eyes are so much more human than her own.

“Teach me how to hunt.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm [@tacticalgrandma](https://twitter.com/tacticalgrandma) on twitter if you want to talk to me there!
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, and any comments/kudos would mean the world <3


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